


Suddenly You're Mine

by camerasparring



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bill is a famous writer and Mike owns a book shop, Bisexual Bill Denbrough, Bisexual Mike Hanlon, Blow Jobs, Disabled Character, Eddie is a wheel-chair user, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Minor Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Notting Hill AU, Romantic Comedy, just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22644007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camerasparring/pseuds/camerasparring
Summary: “Are you kidding? Mikey here has been reading your stuff for ages.”Bill whirls back to Mike with a wide smile, and Mike’s heart flutters against his ribs.Okay, maybe that was true. And maybe Mike insisted on putting up the display of Bill’s books first when they opened the bookshop, before anything else. And maybe it wasn’t actually because it would draw in more customers, like he told Stan. And maybe sometimes Mike likes to linger a little too long on the “about the author” page when he finishes one of Bill’s books, because his pictures always come out so nice and for some reason he takes a new one every single time.“Is that right?” Bill asks, giddy. Mike’s already had his fair share of blushing for the day and it’s barely three o’clock.-Or: A Notting Hill-esque Hanbrough AU.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 66
Kudos: 211





	Suddenly You're Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Hey I spit this out in almost a week after watching Notting Hill, because every and all AU tropes need to be used in fandom and I am not sorry. 
> 
> This is kicking off my Valentine's week wherein I believe I shall be posting upwards of four times. Happy V-Day, my friends! Hanbrough deserves the longing and fluff, too!! (also I couldn't help but add a huge dose of Reddie, I think we all know what I'm about at this point and it is being total Reddie trash.)

Mike looks up at the sign and back down at Stan.

“You don’t think ‘Hanlon Travel’ is a little too… business?” he asks. Stan shrugs. 

“I think it’s the best we could come up with.” 

Mike has to give him that. “Mike’s Book Shop” didn’t have, well, _any_ ring to it, and when his roommate, Richie, suggested “Zoom Zoom Travel Books” all three of them had fallen down a rabbit hole of silly names. 

Going back to simple seemed best.

Stan pats him once, hard, on the back. 

“Congrats, my friend.” 

Mike looks back up at the sign. His own bookshop. 

He’s been dreaming of this since he was a kid. His mother had always wanted her own little store, and sometimes he and Stan would play pretend at having their own cafe and bookshop. The idea always stuck in Mike’s head. 

Two months ago, the library let him go.

Two weeks later, he received a check in the mail - his part of the inheritance from his grandfather. 

He talked to Stan about investing together, and two days later, they were putting a deposit on a place in downtown Derry. 

The sign came in yesterday. Now it is official. He is a store-owner. 

“Now we just have to make some money, and we’re good to go,” Stan says when Mike walks back into the shop. Mike laughs before remembering.

“Oh shit, the tea! I’ll be right back,” he says, because he promised Stan a cup of tea and promptly forgot as soon as he’d been called out to look at the sign. Stan nods and lets him go.

He’s halfway down the street when he turns a corner and runs smack dab into another person. It takes him a second to register the liquid now pouring down the center of his chest. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” the man who hit him exclaims, and Mike looks up, meaning to be angry, but everything sort of just… falls out of his brain when a face comes into view.

It’s Bill Denbrough. 

The writer.

His _favorite_ writer, in fact, and his new bookshop might be full to the brim of travel catalogs and tomes on Rome, but if you look hard enough (it’s not hard, they’re lined up at the front of the shop with a poster for the newest movie adaptation on the wall behind) you can spot all of Bill Denbrough’s books on the shelves. 

And now Bill’s clawing at him with a napkin and rambling expletives and Mike is trying not to be star-struck. 

He’s always prided himself on playing it cool around celebrities. Derry is a bit of a hot-bed when it comes to filming - lower fees, rolling hills and plenty of willing townspeople to be extras. Almost every morning there’s a headline in the paper about the newest arrival, accompanied by gaggles of security. 

Mike always flips past those pages quick. He couldn’t care less about movies or film premieres or celebrities. 

But he’s been reading Bill’s books since _before_ his big break-out. Mike’s never been one for horror, but something in Bill’s writing is haunting and descriptive, weaving a story through character development to make the big climax even more startling in its terror. Mike _wishes_ he could write like that. 

“ _Hey_.” 

It cuts through his daydreams about exemplary fiction and he realizes he’s been standing in the middle of the sidewalk staring at Bill Denbrough for at least a few minutes. 

“Oh, sorry, I- thanks for cleaning me up,” Mike says finally, looking down at the shoddy job Bill Denbrough’s done at wiping him clean from what looks like… orange juice. _Gross_. 

“You okay? You looked a little,” he wiggles a hand in Mike’s face, and Mike takes a step back, “out of it.” 

“Hey, man, I’m not the one who came flying around the corner like a bat out of hell.” 

Bill reels back at Mike’s tone. 

“Whoa, sorry, I was just-”

“No, no,” Mike says, and then he’s pressing a hand to Bill’s shoulder without even thinking, “I’m sorry, it’s- I’m just a little.” He clears his throat while Bill watches him. “You’re Bill Denbrough, right?”

Bill’s face softens. He rubs at the center of his forehead and nods. 

“Yeah, yeah, you a fan?” 

Mike hesitates. Thinks of the movie poster and book display. 

“I mean, a bit,” he says. Bill smiles. It looks forced. Mike wonders how many fan interactions he’s already had today.

Then again, he’s the spill-ee, so shouldn’t he have the power here? He’s about to ask Bill if he wants to visit the shop when Bill shifts on his feet and says:

“Well, I should get going. Sorry again for the spill.” 

Mike looks down at the yellowing stain. “Oh, _did_ you apologize?”

Bill’s face falls. Mike crooks an eyebrow and Bill’s mouth stretches in a smile. 

“Maybe not,” he says, then adds, “but you did kind of insult me, so let’s call it even.” 

Mike’s feet stick on the sidewalk for almost a whole minute before he shakes himself off and heads back to the shop. 

Five minutes later, he’s leaving again to get the tea he forgot. 

When he comes back, Bill is there chatting with Stan. They’re standing in front of the Bill Denbrough book display. Mike knows Stan’s been waiting the whole damn day for this tea, but he almost turns and takes off running. Stan sees him before his feet get him going.

“Hey, he’s back,” Stan says, waving him over excitedly. “I want you to _meet_ someone.”

Stan mouths _Bill Denbrough_ when Bill turns around to smile at him. 

“So your name’s Mike,” Bill says, extending a hand out. Mike takes it quickly to shake, and it’s soft and a bit small, and he, uh. Doesn’t _not_ like that. 

Stan’s suddenly looking confused.

“Wait- you two have _met_? Why the hell-”

“Oh, he didn’t tell you about the jerk who spilled orange juice on him?” Bill asks, and Stan’s eyes widen in question at Mike. Mike scrubs at his neck, his face heating. 

“We ran into each other earlier-”

“Quite literally,” Bill adds.

“-during my _first_ tea sojourn,” Mike finishes, putting the tray of cups onto the counter. Stan nods, grabbing at a cup with far-off eyes. 

Bill gestures at the display.

“So, only kind of a fan, huh?” 

Mike laughs. Stan expels tiny drops of tea all over the counter. 

“Are you kidding? Mikey here has been reading your stuff for _ages_.” 

Bill whirls back to Mike with a wide smile, and Mike’s heart flutters against his ribs. 

Okay, maybe that was true. And maybe Mike insisted on putting up the display of Bill’s books first, before anything else. And maybe it wasn’t actually because it would draw in more customers, like he told Stan. And maybe sometimes Mike likes to linger a little too long on the “about the author” page when he finishes one of Bill’s books, because his pictures always come out so _nice_ and for some reason he takes a new one every single time. 

“Is that right?” Bill asks, giddy. Mike’s already had his fair share of blushing for the day and it’s barely three o’clock. 

“I’ve- you’re a good writer,” he concedes, and Bill’s whole face lights up. It’s overwhelming, the way the lines on his face stretch out around the shine in his eyes, how his hair flops down gently into his face when he ducks his head to cover himself. 

“I stopped in to see if you have any books on Greece, actually,” Bill says, turning toward the mess of the store, “but I couldn’t really… find anything.”

Ugh, Mike is embarrassed. He would be mad at Stan for letting in _any_ customers when it’s in this state, and with absolutely no cataloging system on the books, but it’s not like Bill is just anyone. He’s Bill fucking Denbrough. 

So Mike winds his way through the piles until he finds the ultimate guide on Greece, written in 2009, but it’s not like much of the history has changed. Bill tells him he’s researching for his next book, and Mike wants to ask him a million things about it, but Bill seems tight-lipped. Mike understands, rings him up, and sends him on his way before he can think better of it. They bid each other goodbye and Mike swallows down his gut reaction to somehow… ask him out? He’s a famous writer. There’s no way that’s even possible. 

Stan approaches him behind the counter.

“Okay, what the _hell_ was that?” he asks, shoving a finger into Mike’s chest. 

“What?” 

“That was Bill fucking Denbrough,” Stan says, and Mike laughs until he adds, “and he was _flirting_ with you.” 

“ _What_?” Mike says again, though he’s glad for the confirmation that he’s not crazy. He thought he felt something, too, especially when Bill let their fingers brush a little too long together over his receipt. 

“Oh, don’t be-” Stan starts when the door opens again. 

Bill peeks his head in. 

“Hey, um, sorry if this is too forward, but I thought, uh.” Bill eyes Stan, watching attentively in the corner, until he clears his throat and excuses himself, mumbling something about inventory. 

Mike walks closer to the door. “What’s up?” 

Bill hands him a card, still only halfway inside.

“It’s my hotel. I’m doing some press there tomorrow, but if you wanna stop by- you know,” he points down at it, then looks back up at Mike, “I’d like that.” 

Mike’s still registering the feel of the expensive paper between his fingers, and that it lists the _Derry Embassy_ , where Mike once went on field trip before his parents took him out of public to home-school him, when he feels Bill fist a gentle hand in the front of his shirt and pull him down into a kiss. 

It’s quick, but Mike groans into it, mostly out of surprise but also because _hot damn, Bill’s a good kisser_. His face is warm and his lips are plush and soft, and his hand slides up to hold at Mike’s face and Mike almost melts into the door stuck between them. Bill pulls away, eyes dazed, and smiles. Again. 

Mike tries to catch his breath. 

“Sorry,” Bill says, hand dropping away from Mike’s face with a small laugh. Mike shakes his head, biting at his lip. He can still taste Bill there and he practically swoons. 

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” he assures him, because… it was _really_ okay. He hasn’t been kissed like that in years and it was so okay that he might need to book it upstairs and take a cold shower. 

“Okay, well,” Bill says, catching Mike’s eye, and Mike feels it shiver through him, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe.” 

“Yeah,” Mike answers. “Maybe.” 

When Mike finds Stan in the back, he’s huddled over the small security camera in the corner, jaw on the floor. 

“So you saw that, huh?” 

Stan jumps, tipping the stack of books he’d been sitting on. 

“No! No, I- the view was horrible, so I just saw- did he _kiss_ you?” 

Mike’s lips tingle again at the mention. Stan groans.

“Oh my _god_ , are you going to see him tomorrow?” 

Mike stares at the ground. 

“Just _please_ do not get caught up fucking and forget about dinner,” Stan tells him, exasperated, “I do not want to attend the ‘Richie and Eddie pretend they’re not deeply in love’ show all on my own.” 

Mike’s immediately breathless at the _suggestion_ that he’ll get laid tomorrow, for the first time in years, much less with _Bill Denbrough_ , who he’s been fantasizing about since they were both early twenties.

“What about Patty?” he asks after Stan’s wife. 

“Nah, she doesn’t get back til Sunday. I told Eddie I’d be his date for the evening but I think he’s just using me for a ride,” Stan says, then looks down at Mike’s shirt, “also who the fuck drinks _orange_ juice in the afternoon?”

Mike laughs as he hears the front door to the shop ring again. It’s not Bill this time, so Stan agrees to take it as long as Mike promises to make it to dinner. 

The next day, Mike almost forgets about dinner. 

It’s not that he’s _trying_ , it’s just that he arrives at the hotel and sees Bill fielding questions from reporters in a deep blue blazer and jeans and forgets about pretty much everything other than how Bill’s thighs look spread out against the chair he’s sitting in. 

His mouth is distracting too, and the way he moves his arms when he talks, and how succinctly he answers questions about his characters, and soon enough it’s been more than an hour and Mike realizes he’s been watching Bill the whole time, doing nothing but staring. 

Bill doesn’t really seem to notice him in return, at least not until his publicist gives him what Mike assumes is an “all done” signal and he makes his way to a small table filled with food. Mike finally catches his eye then, and despite the bright, oppressive set up for the interviews, Bill’s smile is what lights up the room. 

“Hey, you made it,” Bill says when he sidles up to Mike near the back of the room. He taps him on his chest and leans forward, into his space, and Mike tries to keep his breathing even. 

“Yeah, it was actually pretty fun, watching you,” Mike says before he thinks better of it. Bill looks at him funny, and he stutters out nonsense. “I mean watching you, w-watching you answer all the-”

“It’s fine, I get it,” Bill says, clasping a hand around Mike’s arm. He squeezes once, just a little, but it’s almost once too much. Mike’s all light-headed and stupid caught in the line of Bill’s big blue eyes, so it takes way too long to remember that he has somewhere to be. But then Bill is talking again.

“Are you- do you wanna get some food or something?” he asks, hand still clung around Mike’s arm, “It’s on me, for covering you in orange sludge yesterday.”

Mike smiles, carefully backing up so Bill’s hand falls. 

“I actually have dinner plans with my friends, I’m sorry, we have dinner once a week and I promised-”

“Do you need a date?”

Mike freezes. But Bill’s just smiling easy, the only indication that he’s worried or nervous is just a little crook in the top of his lip where it’s curved up on his face, but it’s more of a cool quirk than a show of weakness. Mike, on the other hand, needs to hold himself up with a fist on the food table or he’s bound to keel over. 

“You want- to come with me to dinner with my friends?” 

“Will Stan be there?” Mike nods. Bill leans in, and it reminds Mike of when they kissed, but then Bill whispers, “See? I already know one of their names. I’m golden.” 

Mike agrees, because Bill is a little pushy, and honestly, it’s his funeral. Mike’s friends are _a lot_. And if Bill wants to willingly put himself in that situation, he’s not going to stop him. It’s not like this thing is going to go the distance, anyway. 

“I don’t _hate_ LA, but I do usually prefer taking time in these little towns instead,” Bill says, walking side-by-side with Mike down Bev and Ben’s street. Mike can see their big, two-story about a block away, and he feels a little disappointed. The walk was a little lengthy but he’s enjoyed chatting with Bill the whole way from the Embassy. 

“I’ve been here all my life,” Mike says in return. Bill turns to him in surprise. 

“You’re kidding,” he says, and Mike shakes his head. “I can’t imagine staying in one place my whole life. I’ve been moving around since I was a kid.” 

It’s not like Mike hasn’t wanted to leave sometimes. Go travel the world. See something other than this tiny corner of the Earth. But there’s things to consider. 

“That must be exhausting.”

Bill shrugs. “It’s what I’m used to. Dad was a bit of a ramblin’ man. And then I got married and she would get antsy if we were in the same place for too long.” 

“Audra, right?” Mike asks, though he’s not sure if that seems creepy. Bill nods without hesitation, but his eyes fix on the ground. Mike figured the topic of his marriage would come up at some point - it ended acrimoniously a couple years ago, splashed all over the papers. Mike never read a single salacious article, but he still felt sad for the both of them, to lack privacy in such a way. 

“Yeah,” Bill says, pushing at the sleeves of his sweater until they’re caught around his elbows. Mike pointedly looks away from his forearms and the wisps of light hair covering them. 

“I’m sorry about that.” 

“Oh god, it’s okay,” Bill says, waving a hand in the air. They’re approaching the house, so Mike slows down, turning until they’re face to face. “It’s all for the best. We’ve kind of, uh. Mended things. So we’re in a good place. I think.” Mike smiles.

“That’s good.” He points up at the house. “So this is it. But let me warn you-”

“Well _finally,_ our favorite new shop-owner arrives!” Richie calls from where he’s whipped open the front door. “Come the fuck on, man, you’re the last one here!”

Mike raises his eyebrow at Bill. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he says, and Bill laughs as they make their way into the house.

“But you _didn’t_ warn me!” 

“Wow, and he’s brought a _fellow_ ,” Richie remarks, closing the door behind them and patting Mike on the back. 

All of them recognize Bill, wide eyes and shaking hands, creepy, gaping smiles and stuttered words while he makes his way through Ben and Beverly’s house. Well, all but Richie.

“You know, Michael over here is a writer, too,” Richie tells Bill when they’re done discussing career goals. Bill has stayed as vague as possible, throwing wry winks Mike’s way every time Richie fails to grasp that he’s a famous horror writer and instead assumes he’s a struggling artist who has yet to give up the ghost. 

Like Mike.

“You’re a writer?” Bill asks, eyes crinkled in the corners. Mike blushes.

“I mean- I’ve written, uh-”

“He sure is,” Richie interrupts, always willing to brag about his friends. Bill stares at Mike until he answers for himself. 

“I just- I’ve tried my hand at it,” he replies, cooly.

“And just got an offer to get it _published_ ,” Richie says. Mike would never punch him, but he might fucking punch him. 

“Mike, that’s-”

“Alright, alright, where are the drinks?” Mike asks, and Richie blows a raspberry at him as they leave.

It’s not like he’s a _real_ writer. He just likes historical fiction, and after reading so many shoddily-researched ones, he thought he would try his hand at it. And then Richie and Stan plotted against him, sent his seventh draft into a publisher and got him an offer. Mike has yet to tell anyone he’s not going to take it. The publisher wanted him to go on a book tour, dates all around the country, and he has far too many commitments in Derry to just abandon his friends and family. 

Still, it was thrilling. To even be offered. 

But certainly nothing to brag to a world-renowned, award-winning author like Bill Denbrough about. Thankfully, Bill follows him to the kitchen and lets the topic drop.

“So you all grew up together?” Bill asks as Mike hands him a drink.

“Yep. Most of us have stuck around Derry, a few of us have flitted back and forth over the years.”

“Most of us because of _horrible_ first marriages,” Richie butts in, staring down at Eddie with a grin. 

“Oh fuck off, Tozier, at least I’ve _been_ married,” Eddie says, wheeling back toward the kitchen to check on dinner.

“Does it even count as a marriage if you come out a virgin?” Richie asks, and the three of them hear a pointed “Fuck _off_!” from Eddie, already gone. 

Mike sighs, then points out toward where the rest of them are congregated. 

“Ben and Beverly bought this house soon after we all grad- well. After everyone made it through their mid-twenties,” Mike says, because maybe Bill will be judgmental, he’s a goddamn writer, probably elitist, too, so he doesn’t need to know Mike worked on his family’s farm until he was twenty-five, took a job with the library until he was forty and now lives with another single roommate and checks in on his parents every few days. 

Bill spends his life jetting back and forth between book parties and movie premieres. Tonight is a fluke. He doesn’t need to get too invested. 

But then again, Bill listens to all his friend’s stories with rapt attention and a fascinated stare, laughing at their jokes. Mike has always found his friends funny, but he’s never felt quite so vindicated as when _Bill Denbrough_ sputters his beer all over the table in response to Richie’s impression of Eddie trying to fit his wheelchair through the door of a club after drinking too much one night. 

“It was _not_ accessible,” Eddie spits back, and Richie kisses at him fondly in the air. 

“How many times do I have to tell you,” Richie gasps through the laughter, “I saw a wheelchair user leave _right_ before you.” 

“Okay, okay, let’s all calm down and eat some dessert,” Ben says, setting a steaming apple pie in the middle of the table. Bill lunges for it first, and Mike is surprised, but he likes the enthusiasm. Everyone watches him cut a piece in silence until he gapes up at them. 

“Sorry, I- uh.” 

“Hungry, Billiam?” Richie says, and Stan slaps him on the arm. “ _What_?” 

Eddie giggles as the rest of them pass the remainder of the pie out. Bill takes a few bites before looking up thoughtfully. 

“So you two are the lone singles, then?” he asks, gesturing toward Richie and Eddie, “Good ol’ Stan’s wife is the only one missing, right?” 

Stan nods and Mike’s heart soars. He’s only brought a few people “home” to meet his friends before, but no one has taken to them like this. They’re usually either overwhelmed, offended, or stuck on the fact that they’re all _far_ too codependent. But Bill fits right in. 

Eddie grumbles his agreement while Richie blushes, keeping quiet. 

Mike knows he’s had a hopeless crush on Eddie for _years_ , but Eddie’s only been free of a rather challenging marriage for the last couple, and Richie’s far too hesitant to make his move. He and Mike cohabitate in a peaceful state of understanding, as Mike is chronically single and Richie is chronically pathetic, so they both agree never to challenge each other and it works out well to keep both of them in statis. 

Mike’s never had a more agreeable roommate, other than the sloppiness and the dirty jokes and the general lack of privacy. It’s nothing compared to what Bill has to deal with, but Mike would really love to wake up one morning without the sight of a mostly-naked Richie there to greet him at the breakfast table. 

“It’s been almost three years since I’ve been divorced,” Eddie says, rather grumpily, around a mouthful of pie. 

“And this is actually my _second_ marriage,” Bev adds. She’s leaning back and sipping on wine, brushing a piece of red hair out of her face, watching Ben watch all his friends appreciate the pie he made from scratch, and Mike is filled with warmth and relief all at once. 

They all saw Bev struggle through her first marriage until she pulled herself out. They were all there to help hoist her up, but she made the final effort. 

“Any advice for finding happiness a second time?” Bill asks Bev, who’s still mooning down at Ben. Ben finally lifts his head to look back at her. She reaches to press a kiss to his forehead. Eddie groans.

“Fuck if I know,” he says, and Richie clears his throat and scoots out of his chair. 

“Lemme clean some of this shit up for you guys,” he says, scooping up the empty pie plates, including the one Eddie’s currently eating off of, and heading to the kitchen. Eddie gasps.

“What the fuck dude I’m-”

“All that sugar makes you sleepy,” Richie says before Eddie can finish complaining. 

Bev smiles, then turns to Bill. 

“Focus on what you want. What makes you happy. No obligations or expectations of what kind of person you’re ‘supposed’ to be,” she says, and everyone around the table lets it soak in. 

“That was cheesy as fuck, Bev,” Richie says, and they all turn to see him wiping under his eyes in the doorway. 

Bill chuckles happily. His hand lands on Mike’s thigh. Mike’s hand covers it. 

Another hour of conversation slowly passes before people start to head home. Richie offers Mike a ride, considering they’re going to the same place, but Bill holds Mike’s eyes with some sort of purpose and he turns Richie down. 

Bill’s following Mike down the street, waving their goodbyes from a short distance, when they both hear Richie yell, “Why didn’t you assholes tell me that’s Bill fucking _Denbrough_?” 

They’re caught in a fit of giggles for the next couple blocks. 

It all alternates between light and easy, laughing with each other until they’re both clutching at their stomachs, and heavy and real, telling tales of their youth and various romantic failings. Bill’s got a younger brother, George, which Mike knew. Bill’s bisexual, which Mike kind of figured, but he thanks Bill for telling him, anyway, and then tells him the same. 

“A lot in common, huh?” Bill says with a wink, walking toward a bench when they come upon Barren Park. Once he’s seated, he motions for Mike to join him. 

“Thanks for coming tonight,” Mike says. His foot bounces over the dewy grass, and Bill watches it. “My friends really liked you.” 

“Well I’m glad. They seem like they might usually be a tough crowd?” Mike laughs.

“Yeah, I think the fame helped,” he says, foot still bouncing aimlessly. He’s nervous, especially being this close to Bill. Their thighs are touching, splayed out on the bench, Bill’s hands dancing on his own thighs. They’ve already kissed, but Bill’s hands are still a little squirrely, until he slaps one down on Mike’s thigh to quiet it. 

It works. 

They stare at each other for a beat, the quiet of the park at night swirling around them. Lights are pinned all across the perimeter fence, silhouetting Bill in a golden haze. Mike had exactly one glass of wine at dinner, but it’s like he can _feel_ it, still, all these hours later. Or maybe it’s just the look in Bill’s eyes, making him feel drunk. He doesn’t manage to figure it out before Bill’s leaning in to kiss him again. 

The bookshop kiss was a heart-stopper, over before it felt like it began. Mike could live and die on the memory of it, but _this_. This feels like Bill taking his time, confident in what he’s doing, and Mike’s pretty sure he’s not going to get an apology for this one. Because something this good should _not_ be apologized for. 

Bill’s mouth opens against his gently, hands cupped around his face to draw him in further. His tongue pushes over Mike’s bottom lip, just to taste, and Mike’s never liked kissing with too much tongue, but for _this_ he can get on board. He groans and grabs at Bill’s thighs, because he’s been staring at them all damn day and he wants to fucking _touch_. Wrapping his palms around the meat of them, he pulls until one is up on his lap, the other tucked against it, and then Bill is groaning back, deep in his chest, and Mike considers laying him down here, right here on this bench and kissing and kissing until neither of them can breathe. 

They get close, Bill’s hands gliding up under the hem of Mike’s shirt and Mike gripping hard into the hollows of Bill’s hips, but then Mike pulls away when he remembers they’re in _public_ , even if it is almost midnight. 

Bill’s chest rises and falls fast in the glowing light of the park, his lips shiny and wet, and Mike leans in to grab one more kiss before he untangles their legs. 

“I’ve uh-” Bill starts, just as Mike says, “That was-” 

“Yeah,” they both finish, and then they’re laughing again, and Mike holds on hard to the bench, lest he float away. Luckily, Bill’s hand comes back to rest around his jaw. 

“I have to fly back to LA day after tomorrow, but can- can you come see me again?” 

Mike thinks of the shop, all the inventory and sorting, all the pricing and cataloging things into the system, not to mention just plain _cleaning_ that needs to be done. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Stan, it’s just that Stan hasn’t been obsessing over this moment for years, and Mike knows exactly how he wants things laid out. He spent years organizing at the library, but now he has free reign for his own store, and before he met Bill and discovered how positively thrilling just _kissing_ someone can be, he had been extremely excited to get started.

Now all he wants to do is say-

“Yes, yes, of course.” 

Both of them are grinning like fools, two sets of white teeth blaring in the darkness, and Mike reaches up to brush the grey-streaked piece of hair from out of Bill’s eyes. 

Bill catches his hand and presses a kiss to his palm. 

That’s when Mike knows he has it bad. 

He spends the whole next day vibrating, eyes snapping to the door whenever it opens, always hoping for Bill. Bill told him to meet at the hotel any time after five, so he’s not sure why he thinks he’s going to magically show up, but it never stops him from looking. 

When Stan comes up behind him as the clock approaches five, Mike startles. 

“Are you… watching the security cameras back here?” 

Mike piles a couple books in his lap. “No. I’m looking through these books.” 

“Uh huh,” Stan says. “This has nothing to do with hoping a certain famous writer will come through the door, does it?”

“Stan, cut it out.” Mike makes his way over to some of the messier shelves, moving books back and forth with no real intention. 

“Why? Don’t wanna admit you actually like this guy?” 

“It’s not that I don’t-” Mike stops himself. No. Maybe he actually can’t admit it. Because then it would be real, and no matter if it is or not, it’s going to end after tonight. “It’s stupid to even consider. He’s not _really_ interested.” 

Stan scoffs. “You’re kidding, right?”

Mike glares at him, picking up a whole new pile of books to not look through.

“He was so very clearly into you at dinner. And he’s the one who kissed you! Both times!” Stan’s gesturing wildly at him now, and Mike suddenly wishes they had more customers, for many reasons, but mostly so Stan will get off his case. 

“I’m not going to tell you this stuff if you’re going to use it against me, man.” 

Stan deflates. 

“Will you at least consider that maybe this guy actually likes you?” he says, but Mike’s already shaking his head. 

“It doesn’t _matter_ , Stan. He’s leaving for LA tomorrow morning and then I’ll probably never see him again.” He shifts a copy of _London Town: The Guide to Hipster London_ through his fingers. “You know these famous types, they always say they ‘adore’ it here, that they’re bound to come back, and then they’re gone forever.” 

“Yeah, but-”

“Please,” Mike sighs. 

Stan raises his hand in surrender before walking back to the head of the shop. 

Mike knocks on Bill’s door at 5:02. 

Bill throws the door open and immediately looks stricken. 

“Mikey, I-”

“Sorry, I know, I know,” Mike says, laughing, already embarrassed, “I’m like, right on time, but the traffic at the store wasn’t-”

“Babe, is that the food?” he hears a voice say from inside the room, and then Bill is almost closing the door in his face. 

“Just stay in here, Audra, I’ll be right out,” Bill says before he comes back out and shuts the door behind him. Mike’s heart is in his feet, or maybe it fell through the surface of the earth and it’s hurtling toward China, either way, Bill’s staring at him like he’s a _problem_ and he suddenly feels stupid for not assuming this moment would come sooner than it is. 

“Is that-”

“Yeah,” Bill sighs, rubbing a hand over the lines on his forehead. “She showed up this morning and waited for me all day. I don’t know what she wants but-”

“It’s okay,” Mike stops him, his skin crawling, “it’s okay, I’ll get out of your hair, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Mike, I told you to come,” Bill says, but he looks like he’s going to accept. The spark from the past couple days has completely left his eyes, and now he’s looking up at Mike like he’s just… a stranger. 

And he is, really. 

“I mean, it’s not like I thought this was really anything,” he says. Bill’s eyes go cold in an instant, and Mike wishes he could take it back, but it’s already out. This is how he knew this would end. 

“Right,” Bill says.

“You have to leave tomorrow, and you’ve clearly got some unfinished business with-”

“It’s nothing, Mike. But you’re right,” Bill says, eyes falling to the ground, “it’s not like you’re interested in anything outside of Derry anyway, right?” 

“That’s not-” 

“Good luck with your writing, and uh, maybe I’ll see you around sometime.” 

This time, Bill really does shut the door in his face. 

Mike doesn’t see him again for six months. 

He spends the first few in something of a work-fueled daze. The store needs a lot of attention, so it’s not hard to throw himself in completely. 

Stan only bothers him for a couple weeks, but it’s not like Bill left him any contact info, so Stan runs out of practical solutions pretty quick. 

Richie is not as easily deterred.

“Love always finds a way, my man!” 

“No one said l- can you get your feet off the table, _please_?” Mike knocks them off anyway, sweeping at the ankle and relishing in Richie’s stunted groan of pain. 

“I’m just saying, you shouldn’t give up hope. You two seemed _really_ into each other.” 

Richie spoons some cereal into his mouth. Mike buries his face in his hands. That’s what people keep _saying_.

“It was twice. We met _twice_. It’s been months. Can we just give it up?” 

“Not my strong suit, dude,” Richie says. His face falls after a few moments of thinking on it. Mike pats at his knee. 

“I think we both know that.” 

The months come and go a little easier after awhile. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine’s, although that one’s a little harder than the rest. 

The early spring wind is whipping against his cheek when he sees it. Bill’s face. 

On a gossip rag. 

It’s a crude and grainy picture, and the angle is a weird stretch, but it’s Bill, alright. Caught in a passionate kiss with another man. The headline reads:

“Trouble In Paradise: Audra Phillips’ Husband In Lip-Lock with Man!”

Mike has taken special care to avoid magazines in the last six months. Ever since he went out to buy a pack of gum and saw a picture of Bill and Audra laughing together at some restaurant. He assumed they had gotten back together, and he was happy for Bill, if that’s what he wanted, but he didn’t necessarily want to _see_ it, so he stared straight ahead at grocery store check-outs and pretended to be extremely fascinated with the giant fish tank at his dentist’s office.

Until now, he’s been successful in avoiding it. But this can be just the same - let it go, it’s not your business, Michael. 

Unfortunately, Richie and Eddie are in the kitchen whispering about it when he gets back home. 

“I guess I’m just surprised it’s not- whoa, hey there, Mikey!” Richie calls after him as Mike starts to climb the stairs. He turns on the first step to wave at them.

“Hey guys, just gonna read in my room.” 

“Wait, Mike, how are you doing?” Eddie asks him. Mike groans. He doesn’t want to _talk_ about this.

“Listen, guys, I don’t really want to talk about this.” 

Eddie and Richie give each other looks. 

Richie’s saying, “Don’t want to talk about w-” when the doorbell rings. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Eddie curses, covering his ears, “I always forget you have that thing. Who the fuck has a doorbell in an apartment?” 

Richie pokes at Eddie’s foot with his. “It’s a fucking townhouse, man.” 

Mike jogs to the front door and at first doesn’t really believe it, maybe it’s some weird sort of deja vu, but that was _definitely_ a magazine earlier and this, Bill standing at his front door, is definitely _not_. Bill smiles sadly up at him, one hand shoved into the pocket of a brown leather jacket, the other clutched around a small duffel bag.

“Hey, Mikey.” 

“What are you-”

“Could I come in?” Bill asks, pointing inside. Mike nods, half because he’s in shock and half because his head is buzzing so loudly he doesn’t hear Richie and Eddie arguing about floor plans in the kitchen. 

“I’m not fucking _moving_ into the apartment above you, I can barely get through- oh _fuck_ ,” Eddie says upon seeing Bill walk through the front door, and Mike makes a “cut it out” signal over his throat but Richie just grins huge and waves in response. 

“Bill, it’s funny seeing you again, we were actually just-” Richie says, but Mike cuts him off with a hand on Bill’s arm. 

It’s been so long, but it feels like an instinct. Bill’s mouth is hanging open, mostly likely due to the rough entry.

“Hey, actually, why don’t we go for a walk or something?” Mike asks instead. Bill shakes, like he’s coming out of a fog, but then he keeps on shaking his head.

“No, no, that’s actually why I’m here, I-” he looks to the kitchen, toward two sets of nosy eyes, then holds Mike around the arms and shifts them a few inches into the living room. Mike knows the guys will still be able to hear them, but it’s an illusion of privacy, at the very least. 

“Would you mind if I stayed here, for awhile?” Bill says, and Mike’s breath stutters, “I have some real jerks following me around, and they’ve weirdly surrounded my house in LA, and my agent isn’t calling me back and this was the only place I could think-”

“Stay,” Mike says, mostly to get Bill to stop rambling but also because he… wants it. He wants to help Bill. 

Bill stares up at him with wide, puppy dog eyes, bright blue and absurd. Mike remembers those eyes like a tight hold around his throat, but Bill came _here_ to feel safe, and suddenly Mike feels like a jerk for assuming Bill was blowing him off before. It’s been six long months of rolling it over in his head. He’s getting a little tired of holding some sort of grudge.

“Are you sure?” Bill asks, lips curling into a hesitant smile. Mike shrugs. 

“We have a spare room,” he says, and Bill’s face falls, so Mike adds, “and I can ask Stan and Patty to cover the store this weekend, if you wanna, you know. Hang out.” 

Mike’s mind quickly flits over the laundry list of calls he’ll need to make, but his cousin lives nearby and he can probably stop by his dad’s tomorrow for him, hopefully Stan won’t be too upset with him taking some time off, and then he zones back in to Bill smiling at him. 

Mike smiles right back. Why does this always grip him so quickly? 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Bill says, then something flashes over his eyes. “But I think maybe I should stay in, for the most part, if that’s okay.” 

Mike nods. “I really didn’t know you were this famous, I mean,” he leans in, he can’t help it, but Bill looks so tired and so _good_ somehow, and Bill’s going to be in his house for the weekend and god, it’s been _so_ long, “you’re just a writer.” 

Bill laughs.

“I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me. It’s all, uh.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s all Audra. And you know- um. Gay scandal or whatever.” 

“Yeah, sheesh, I’m so sorry about that.” 

Bill nods, shifting his feet on the floor. The sounds of conversation float in from the kitchen, but Bill’s eyes rake him up and down. Mike stops himself from shivering. 

“Did you, did you just say ‘sheesh’?” Bill asks. It shocks a laugh out of Mike. He pushes gently at Bill’s shoulder.

“Hey, I’m putting you up, have some respect.” 

Bill shines up at him. “Alright, sorry, grandpa.” 

Mike wants to kiss him. He doesn’t. 

But Bill’s always been willing to make the first move. This time it just takes him a while.

They order dinner in with Richie and Eddie, and Mike tries to keep them from prying Bill with questions but a few eke through. Bill, for his part, goes mostly quiet when they bring it up, and eventually Eddie seems to feel guilty and slaps at Richie to shut up. 

Eddie leaves and Richie goes to bed, so Bill and Mike sit up talking for a few hours. 

“It was so fucking long ago, I really didn’t think anyone would care,” Bill’s telling him over a leftover take-out container, legs thrown up on the kitchen table. 

Mike finds he doesn’t mind so much when it’s not Richie’s dirty feet. Plus Bill’s thighs are stretched out and clenched, and the moonlight is hitting his legs just right, so Mike isn’t going to complain. 

“It’s not like it was really a _secret_ that I like guys, I mean, Audra always knew, and we aren’t even together! We _haven’t_ been together, I mean for God’s sake, I haven’t kissed anyone s-since-”

Bill snaps his mouth shut in an instant, staring up at Mike like he’s been caught. Mike takes a second to process.

“You and Audra didn’t get back together?” he asks. Bill clenches a hand tight around his beer. 

“No!” he yells, and Mike jerks back. “God, _sorry_ , no, no, we never got back t-together.” He heaves a huge sigh. “She showed up at my hotel room last time I was in Derry and suggested we try it again, but I told her we were better off friends and she eventually agreed. It was a f-f-f-fluke,” he stops, squeezing his eyes shut. “Jesus Christ, I’m sorry, I haven’t stuttered since high school.” 

Mike watches as Bill takes a drink and shoves a fork full of noodles into his mouth. His hands are shaking and his eyes are wild, and it occurs to Mike this is the most unhinged and _normal_ he’s ever seen him. Then again, this man spills orange juice on unsuspecting victims at three in the afternoon, so he hasn’t always been put-together. 

Mike leans forward in his chair and slowly wraps a hand around Bill’s knee. Bill’s throat bobs. 

“You don’t have to be nervous, Bill. It’s okay,” he says, and Bill nods, running a hand through his hair. Mike watches it flip back over his face before shaking himself out of it. “No one deserves to be outed like that. But everyone important knew, right?”

Bill nods again. Mike squeezes his knee. 

“So screw the rest of them,” he says, holding Bill’s eyes in his. His skin burns where they’re touching, but he’s willing to let himself go up in flames if it means Bill will keep looking at him like this. 

“Thank you,” Bill answers quietly. Mike pats at his knee once more and leans back in his chair. Bill slides his foot forward so their calves line up. Mike smiles. 

It’s past midnight by the time they’re climbing the stairs. Mike’s turning to show Bill to the guest room, and his finger is already waving in that direction, but then Bill grips him around the arms again and Mike’s just poking him deep in the chest. 

“Mikey, could I-”

Mike doesn’t let him finish, just whispers a way-too-needy, “ _Yes_ ,” and then Bill’s tongue is in his mouth. 

Every one of their kisses up until now has simmered sweet and slow, settling over them gently like they were both holding something back. But Mike’s done being hesitant, not with how Bill was looking at him in the kitchen, not after hearing that he’s the last person Bill kissed. God, Bill had _waited_ for him, and even if he didn’t do it intentionally, it’s enough to make Mike walk Bill backward and kiss him into the wall. 

He licks into Bill’s mouth as soon as it opens against him, and Bill moans, deep in his chest. It’s always so _easy_ to make him moan, and Mike is heady on the knowledge that he’s kissed Bill enough to suss that out. Mike tips his head down and grabs at either side of Bill’s face, holding him close. Arms snake around his waist, and Bill pulls him closer, crowding both their bodies against the wall. 

Mike pulls back when Bill’s leg slots between his thighs. 

“Let’s-” and then his breath catches, because Bill’s head falls against the wall and he already looks _wrecked_ , his eyes dark, lips bitten, cheeks flushed. Just from kissing. Just from kissing _Mike_. 

So he manhandles Bill into his bedroom and down onto the bed, and Bill goes willingly, laughing and breathing kisses into Mike’s neck. He starts working at his belt as soon as he’s seated.

“I gotta say, you taking control is kind of a turn on for me,” Bill says, peeling his shirt off. Mike’s hands fumble over his own belt. 

“Oh yeah?” 

Bill nods breathlessly. “You’re really, uh. Well.” 

“Yeah?” Mike asks, looping his shirt over his head. 

“Strong.” Bill gulps. Mike looks down at his body. He’s- well. Helping out on the farm will do that to a guy.

“Yeah, well, you look,” Mike starts to say, eyes following the slim, rocky lines of Bill’s body, but his tongue catches at the back of his throat.

Bill’s bare thighs are spread out on the edge of his bed, pale against the white sheets, and when he palms over himself through his boxers, Mike lurches forward to start kissing over his neck, and chest and stomach until he’s straining his lips around Bill’s hard on. 

The first time he wakes up to Bill in his bed, in his _arms_ , it’s a shock to his system. 

He blinks, hard, running a hand over Bill’s stomach just to feel it, solid and real. It’s warm and comfortable, so he nuzzles into the back of Bill’s neck, pressing a few open-mouthed kisses there, and falls back asleep for almost an hour. 

The sun doesn’t let them sleep too late, and Bill isn’t pleased. 

“Mmmm why so _bright_ ,” he mumbles into the sheets, covering his eyes while Mike giggles into the soft skin of his spine. 

“I’m an early-riser,” Mike says. Bill groans.

It’s true, though, Mike is usually up by now on Saturdays. He likes to help his dad out on the farm before he takes the shop over from Stan at noon. Richie brings him lunch, sometimes with Eddie tagging along. Other times he meets Bev downtown to catch up and eat at Nan’s, but he can’t remember the last time he stayed in bed past eight. 

He’s also never had a sleepy, pliable, _very_ naked Bill grinding back against him before, and lord knows he’s not about to spring out of bed when Bill scrambles for Mike’s hand and presses it back between his cheeks. 

" _Oh_ god,” Mike says when he feels him, tight and hot at the center. 

“Wait, wait,” he says, breaking away and throwing open his bedside drawer to find his bottle of lube. Bill’s hand reaches back as soon as he spoons into him, as soon as his fingers are slicked up and ready to nudge inside. When he starts pumping one in, he twists his thumb to apply pressure right behind Bill’s balls, and Bill’s _whines_ , throwing his hands up to fist into the pillow. 

“Fuck, Mike, that’s good,” he moans, so Mike keeps going. Swirls his tongue over Bill’s shoulder, laving at the light freckling on his skin. He thrusts up, his whole body moving at the speed of his fingers, and he imagines he’s fucking Bill for real, and the thought is so intensely hot he has to shift forward so his cock is rubbing tight against the back of Bill’s thigh. 

“I want- I want your hands on me,” Bill gasps, rutting back against Mike’s fingers when he adds another. Mike’s hand slips from where it’s been pulling at Bill’s hip to wrap around his dick, jerking over it gentle and loose. 

Bill’s thrusting forward and back and moaning like a cat in heat, body jolting on the sheets, and Mike’s always thought of himself as a classy guy but he can only take so much, so he’s desperately humping under the swell of Bill’s ass, where his fingers are buried _deep_ , and that thought alone almost makes him come. 

“Mike, I’m there,” Bill’s saying, and Mike almost laughs, out of sheer delight but also because this all feels so _easy_ , moving and sliding shamelessly together in the mid-morning light, creaking the bed so loud Richie can probably hear, but that’s hardly a concern once Bill finally breaks and comes because he honest-to-god _shouts_ as he clenches around Mike’s fingers and bashes his head against the headboard. 

Mike’s laughing when he grinds forward, hard, clinging tight to Bill’s hip with a sticky hand, fucking up against his skin, and then Bill groans out a laugh in his own afterglow and Mike shatters and comes. 

It’s all messy, and they’re caught in a fit of giggles while they’re both coming down, but then Bill twists in Mike’s grip and forces their mouths together and Mike forgets about all of it and lets Bill hold him while they shake and catch their breath. 

Mike’s never laughed during sex before.

Bill pulls back, his eyes heavy and fond, and Mike has to peck at his lips, just once more, just because. 

“Ugh,” Bill groans when Mike leans back to dislodge his fingers. “I’m gonna need coffee if you expect me to be functional today.” 

Mike smiles. The nape of Bill’s neck is quickly becoming his favorite spot, so he smacks a kiss there before climbing out of bed.

“I don’t know how functional you need to be, but I was thinking about whipping up some breakfast in bed.” 

Bill smiles over his shoulder, stretched out and bare, and Mike almost forgoes breakfast altogether to climb back into bed. 

He enacts some level of self-control and makes it down to the kitchen, but he gives up on the bacon and eggs he had planned and slams down two pieces of toast while the coffee brews. He grabs the orange marmalade Bev gave him after Ben’s canning kick and pours two mugs, and he’s in such a rush to lay eyes on Bill again he almost spills it all over Richie, who’s rubbing at his chin and planted in the hallway, staring up at the staircase. 

“Richie, what the _f_ -”

“Do you think I’m strong enough to carry Eddie up this thing?” 

Mike stops, setting down the mugs on the second step.

“What?” 

Richie sighs. “I don’t wanna get halfway up and realize I’m gonna drop him. I _knew_ I should’ve gotten one of those lifts but it reminds me of fucking Gremlins and I don’t wanna imagine Eddie rocketing out the window every time he climbs in.” 

Mike’s head spins. 

“No, why are you carrying Eddie upstairs? Can’t you- wait,” Mike stops, and Richie slaps a hand over his face. “Did something _happen_?” 

“I thought we agreed not to talk about this,” Richie says, and Mike claps a hand around his shoulder.

“Tell that to ‘love always finds a way’ Richie, man.” 

They catch each other in a shared smile, and Mike shakes him gently. 

“Nothing _happened_ , really. Not yet,” Richie says, rubbing at the back of his neck, “but I don’t wanna fuckin’ fumble if it does, you know? I want him to be- I just want him to know I can do this. A relationship, or whatever.”

Mike knows this look, knows this flustered affectation Richie puts on when he’s talking about treating Eddie right. Maybe it’s the sweet, sexy man waiting for him in bed, but he wants to soothe Richie with a hug. 

So he does. 

“Hey, wha-” Richie sputters when Mike’s arms come around him.

“I’m really happy for you, Richie.” 

Richie coughs out a laugh, and it sounds a little wet, but Richie clings tightly so Mike holds on a little longer to give him a second to pull himself together. When they step apart, Richie wipes at his eyes. 

“Don’t jinx me,” he laughs. Mike gathers his food and coffee again, climbing up the stairs when Richie adds, “and hey, I’m happy for you, too.” 

“Oh, I-”

“Don’t bullshit me, home-school, you think I can’t decipher the banging of a headboard when I hear it?” 

Mike bites his lip and turns on his heel immediately. Richie cackles after him. 

This might be a whole new phase in their roommate-ship. 

Mike’s kind of excited. 

Bill’s still blessedly naked when Mike walks in the door, so he strips off his shirt and boxers to match. They eat in bed, cross-legged under the sheet with marmalade fingers and coffee breath. 

They don’t do much else for the next two days. 

Stan readily agrees to watch over the shop, and Richie spends most of the day at a film festival Eddie insisted on dragging him to, so they have the place to themselves for the first day. 

They order Thai for lunch and eat it for dinner, too. They split four meals and gag over Richie’s hoppy beer. They fight over the fortune cookies, but then Bill shoves into Mike’s lap at the table and kisses him until he doesn’t know which way is up, so Mike loses track of who wins. They make out against the fridge and the sink and on the couch until they’re taking it back upstairs. 

They talk. And talk. And talk. 

“Have you started it?” Mike asks, once Bill finally mentions writing a new book. Mike tries to pretend he isn’t excited, but by now, Bill is starting to see through him. 

“Hold your horses, there, super-fan, I’m in a bit of a funk,” Bill chuckles. Mike swallows around his third foray into the Thai leftovers and pokes at Bill with his foot under the kitchen table. 

“Someone seems defensive,” he says, and Bill grabs at his foot and pinches the skin on top. Mike squirms away with a laugh. 

“I’m not _defensive_ , I’m just- I’m. I’m taking my time on this one.” 

“Ah.” Mike can’t stop smiling. His face is starting to hurt and he couldn’t care less. 

“What about you, huh?” Bill says, turning it around on him, “You thinking about your next book?”

Well that’s a laugh.

“Oh god, no, no,” Mike tells him, and Bill gets up to open the fridge. “I don’t even know if ‘next’ is in the cards. I might just be a one-hit wonder.” He thinks on that. “Is it possible to be a one-hit wonder without a hit?”

Bill smiles over at him. 

“Well maybe if you let your boyf- I mean, uh.” Bill’s face immediately shades deep red in the artificial light of the fridge. Mike freezes. “If you, if you let me read it, I c-c-c-”

“Did you just-”

“No, absolutely not,” Bill insists, closing the fridge, running to the sink and slamming the tap on. He’s scrubbing at the skin of his hands with lemon dish soap and scalding water, steam billowing up over the window before Mike glides over to turn it off. 

Bill rips off a piece of paper towel to dry his hands, glaring out into the night. When Mike wraps a hand around his neck, his body relaxes into the touch. 

“I don’t know where that came from, it’s just been so nice, just _being_ here with you and I guess I-”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Mike says, pressing gentle kisses to Bill’s shoulders, the top of his spine, his back, until he turns in Mike’s arms and brings their lips together. 

“I would really love to read your book, though,” Bill whispers into his mouth. Mike’s gut wants to refuse, because he knows Bill will push it, and his heart is hammering far too hard to have any sort of clear opinion, but Bill’s eyes are trusting and vulnerable and he wants to give him everything. 

“Yeah, okay,” Mike relents, and it’s worth it for the way Bill’s whole face lights up. “But if you have anything bad to say you better keep it to yourself.” Mike leans forward to rub their noses together. Bill blows a breath against his cheek and kisses him, soft and teasing. It makes his whole body tingle. 

The second day is somehow even better. 

Bill brings him coffee in bed this time, and although he spills it on the sheets, Mike forgives him when he soaks it up with an old towel and sucks his dick for a good half an hour to make up for it. 

He spends the rest of the day in a lust-heavy fog, cuddling with Bill on the couch while they watch movies, mooning over Bill when he insists on making them grilled cheese with an old block of Gruyère Mike finds in the fridge, and then laughing his ass off when Bill almost immediately sets off the smoke detector and decides to forfeit and order a pizza instead. 

The way Bill listens when Mike talks is so intent it’s like a warm hand holding tight around his heart. All Mike can offer back is a comforting hand on Bill’s shoulder while he talks right back. 

“I never stuck around in any place long enough to make friends,” Bill says, fidgeting fingers around a cooling cup of tea. Mike palms at his knee, bony and bare, peeking out from the blanket covering the both of them in bed. “Developed the stutter when we moved to Germany. It still pops up sometimes, even though my parents spent a fortune on speech therapy.” 

Mike shrugs. “I think it’s kinda cute.” 

“Oh my _god_.” Bill sprawls onto his back. It feels like an invitation, so Mike crawls over him. 

“ _What_?” Mike asks, sliding up with kisses to Bill’s stomach, his chest, his neck. 

“I don’t- I don’t know.” 

Mike licks a fat stripe across the jut of Bill’s chin. 

“You don’t know.” He nibbles at an already bloomed hickey on Bill’s neck, relishing the grip of Bill’s hands at his sides, down to his ass, reaching for his thighs. Bill grunts low in his throat.

“I don’t- you just. You drive me-” His breath comes in huffs. 

“Mmm,” Mike moans, fitting his whole body between Bill’s legs, overwhelmed.

“Mike,” Bill breathes quiet between them. Mike uses a hand to open Bill’s thighs and drags his fingers rough over the expanse of them. Bill shivers against him. 

“Yeah?” Mike lifts his head, and Bill shutters in his arms, then looks determined.

“Are there condoms in your little table thing?” He jerks his head toward the drawer. His mouth is panting open with the question, and he looks impatient, like if Mike doesn’t answer soon he might shimmy out of his grip and prep himself.

And Mike definitely can’t have that. 

It’s fast and frantic, and Mike uses way too much lube but it makes the slide easy, opens Bill up quick and filthy for him. Bill moans and pinches fingers into his skin, pulling him closer, spreading his legs wide, and Mike knows he should spend longer stretching him open but then Bill is gasping a strung-out _please, Mikey_ , and Mike slicks himself up starts pushing in.

They’re both shaking with it, wet down to their thighs and tangled in the sheets from rutting hard against each other, but their eyes are sure and strong. They hold gentle and slow as their hips meet again and again. 

Mike’s whole existence is tugged down to Bill writhing under him, pushing back into his thrusts. He speeds up when Bill pulls him into a kiss and threads a low moan between them. The whole motion of it is enchanting. It becomes slow and deep while they catch their breath. Mike leans back, holding at the base of Bill’s cock where it’s trapped in the middle, then smoothing a hand over it, quicker and quicker until Bill is close to screaming. 

Bill comes like that. Mike watches from above, grinding into him hard, holding tight and heavy around his thigh to keep him up. Then Bill looks up, broken and moaning, and Mike presses in deep while Bill is already nodding, whispering and pulling him closer by the sweaty fingers around his hips. Mike thrusts and buries his face into Bill’s neck, groaning loud, bucking his cock inside.

“ _Yeah_ , god, Mikey,” Bill whimpers into his ear, and Mike comes on a sob, and he’s not sure when he started crying, but he falls into Bill’s arms and suddenly can’t stop, lets Bill hold him through it, lets Bill’s hands blanket him while he finds solace in the sticky press of their bodies together. 

“I think I-” Bill pants under him, Mike’s tears drying on his chest, “I think I could fall for you.” 

Mike lifts his head with red, stinging eyes and Bill’s look much the same, blinking up at him in nervous question. Bill’s given so much of himself to Mike, here, in his home, and finally, Mike wonders why he’s been so hesitant to believe it’s real. 

Then the third day goes to shit fast.

“Holy fucking _shit_ ,” Bill murmurs when he returns from the bathroom, and Mike pops his head up from soaking in the morning sun drenched over his pillow. 

“What?” 

“I think I just saw Richie- uh.” Bill makes some motion over his crotch with a hand. “Giving Eddie head. In the bedroom.” 

Mike almost dies from the shock. 

“The- wait. How- why were you in Richie’s bedroom?” 

Bill flails his arms and shuffles to sit on the bed. His face is flushed and his eyes are wild and though he has a tale to tell that Mike definitely needs to hear, he wants to press him into the sheets and make out instead. Just a little. 

“I heard _noises_ , and the fucking _door_ was cracked open!” He points out at the hallway, toward the scene of the crime. “I didn’t mean to go in there, but I pushed at the door to make sure everything was okay, and then there was a wheelchair and next thing I knew Richie’s face was popping up from-” he dances his fingers over his crotch again. 

“Oh my god,” Mike laughs. “That was very fast.” 

“I would wash my eyes out but I’m not walking past that room again for another few hours.” 

Mike laughs again. This time, Bill joins him. He runs a hand up Bill’s thigh.

“I could help keep you occupied.” 

Bill’s smile is leering. Mike tackles him back into bed. 

After, they’re stretched out and chatting, fingers tangled loosely between them. 

“I could take you sometime, you know,” Bill says, and something in Mike’s stomach catches, “I’ve been to Italy dozens of times, I even thought about getting a villa there once, but Aud- but it never worked out.” 

Mike kisses at one of Bill’s knuckles. “I’m not sure.” He’d have to leave Stan, leave the shop. A weekend is one thing, but even a week makes him nervous. No matter how much he’s always wanted to visit Italy. Bill swirls a finger around one of Mike’s chest hairs. 

“Whaddya mean? If it’s about the cost don’t worry-”

“What? No, it’s not that, I just,” Mike breathes slowly, in and out, “I have responsibilities here. I help my dad with his farm, and he’s getting pretty old.” 

He told Bill about the farm yesterday, about how his family has owned land in Derry for generations. The lines on Bill’s forehead still crease. 

“Alright, no Italy,” he says, but Mike can see the gears grinding behind the words. “But maybe a trip out to LA?” 

Mike’s mouth pops open. He doesn’t know why he didn’t expect that.

“Oh, uh.” 

“Okay, hear me out. Please don’t be mad,” Bill says, wrapping his hand around Mike’s arm. “I may have talked to my agent-”

“Your agent called you?” 

Bill blinks. “Yeah, he called last night while you were out getting- while you were out,” Bill says, and Mike would laugh at Bill’s coy stumble, since he went out after Bill demanded they fuck again, and he needed to restock on lube before they got too invested. But he’s thrown. He had no idea Bill had been talking to his agent. 

“Okay.” 

“I talked to him about your book. And he said he could get it to some pretty good reps in the historical-”

“You haven’t even read my book,” Mike says, hard and fast. A flickering panic is starting to press in around the edges of his heart. First he thought Bill was asking him to LA because of- but it’s about his book. 

Bill squints.

“I _know_ that, but I’m sure it’s great, Mike, you did all that research-”

“I don’t need you to help me, Bill,” Mike says, and he means it to come out softer than it does. Bill’s head jerks against his pillow. 

“I’m just saying, we could hook you up with a bigger publisher, maybe get you on a book tour if that’s-”

And that’s way too far. Mike sits up, grasping at the sheet to cover himself. Being naked suddenly feels humiliating. 

“I don’t want to go on a book tour, Bill.” 

“What?” Bill sits up next to him. “What do you mean? The connections alone from going around the country-”

“Didn’t I just say I couldn’t leave?” Mike snaps. He knows it’s too much, knows he’s letting Bill see this _side_ of him, his insistent, stubborn roots, the mood that always made his mother shake her head and say, “stubbornness is a strength of the weak,” but he always felt it rising, cresting through his discomfort and shredding his heart without his permission. 

Bill looks worked up and stricken, his face red and blotchy, his lips turned down in a frown. 

“It won’t hurt to get out of Derry a little, Mike.” 

Mike can barely feel his legs, but he chances their strength and gets up out of bed for good. He’s spent two days trying to get as close as possible to Bill, but now he wants to get away, needs some space before he says something he’ll regret. 

“A publisher already offered me a deal and a book tour, Bill,” Mike says, and he’s not sure why, but he hasn’t told anyone yet, and he’s told Bill so much. It’s starting to make him feel stupid, now. Turned inside out. Embarrassed. “I turned them down. People need me here.” 

Bill’s quiet for a long moment. It scratches at Mike’s skin like sandpaper. 

“Do they need you to give up things you want for them?” Bill finally asks. 

Mike pulls his pants on. 

“What do you know about what I want?” 

Bill scoffs. “I know you have a fucking travel book shop and you’ve barely left the same town your entire life. I know you spend hours reading and daydreaming and writing fiction and taking care of everyone else and I bet it makes it easy to ignore the fact that it might be keeping you from actually _living_ your own life.” 

“You know what? I think maybe you should leave,” Mike says, chest heaving. Bill’s already crawling off the bed, shaking his head in a bitter laugh.

“I think you’re probably right.”

He’s dressed and downstairs holding a bag before Mike can catch his breath. 

“I’m just not sure we want the same things,” Mike offers. He knew this would fall apart.

“I don’t think you know what I want, either, Mike,” Bill says, opening the front door. “Let me know if you ever wanna get out of Derry.” 

The anger still burns through Mike’s veins, pumping adrenaline to cover for the breaking of his heart.

Then he hears a shatter in the kitchen.

“Fuck, _Richie,_ you are literally the least subtle person I’ve ever met.”

He turns to see Eddie at the table, scolding Richie, who’s crouched down cleaning up a broken mug. 

Mike stomps upstairs to cool down. 

When he returns a few hours later, Richie and Eddie have called in back up. 

Everyone is piled into their living room.

“Michael,” Richie starts, and Mike almost runs back up the steps, but then Bev is moving in for a hug. He loves Bev’s hugs.

He should have known. His friends are almost as stubborn as he is. 

“He offered to take you to _Italy_?” Eddie asks after Mike finishes begrudgingly catching them all up.

“Yeah, kinda.” 

“And to talk to some big-wig publisher about you,” Richie says, like he’s listing the facts. 

“Uh, yes.” 

“Okay, and this isn’t something you would want?” Bev asks gently. They all look at him. 

“I don’t know, I.” He can’t press the words out at first, because he knows why he’s keeping it from them. They all promised they would never lie to each other, definitely not about something like this. 

Mike’s whole life is full of people who love him, who take care of him, who make sure he takes care of himself. He sees them on a regular basis, and hears their kind words and feels their warm hugs and knows, inherently, that he _has_ people and that will never change. 

“It’s something I’ve already turned down,” he says, finally. 

“What do you mean?” Stan asks. He and Patty are sandwiched together on the couch. It suddenly aches to look at them, so soon after Bill made his swift exit. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

“I mean that publisher offered me a deal and a book tour and I turned them down.” 

Mike knows everyone is staring even before he opens his eyes. 

“What the _fuck_ , Michael,” Richie says. Mike winces.

“Mike, why would you do that?” Stan asks, voice heavy. 

Mike comes up short. It’s hard to explain that feeling he gets, when his friends are away. When his heart tugs at the sight of them. When they’re all together and a sense of completeness slots into his chest. He knows he doesn’t need to explain it to them, not really. He shrugs, eyes wet, and each of them see it, he knows they do. 

Patty moves across the room to sit next to him, slipping her hand into his.

“I know how happy you all make each other,” she says, catching all their eyes in a slow circle around the room, “but I also know what you have isn’t going to fade away because you’re apart for awhile.” 

“Yeah, Mike, we haven’t always all lived in the same place,” Eddie agrees. Richie’s nodding next to him. 

“You will quite literally never be rid of us,” Richie says, thumbing at his chest. Eddie looks up at him with dopey eyes and Mike misses Bill with that same ache. When did all of his friends couple up? 

“It’s not that I don’t know that,” Mike says, rubbing at the pain centering in his forehead, “I just. The shop. My dad,” he points at Richie, “the rent.” 

“You think we can’t help you sort things out to see you make it to _Italy_ , man?” Ben asks. Mike’s thrown by the edge to his voice, but then he says, “If it were flipped, wouldn’t you do the same for us?” 

And it feels like someone slapped him across the face. _Oh_.

Patty squeezes his hand once. Just to drive the point home, probably. 

“A lot of people rely on you, Mike,” Stan says, “and maybe we’ve been leaning a little too heavily lately.” He quirks an accusing eyebrow at everyone.

“Yeah, well, it’s okay to lean back, man,” Richie responds, eyeing Stan back suspiciously. 

“You deserve to be happy like the rest of us,” Patty says, next to him. 

Mike realizes he didn’t quite believe it as soon as it’s said out loud.

He finally squeezes Patty’s hand back. 

“So you’re saying I may have screwed up here,” he says. Everyone laughs, quiet and together, and it hides a few sniffles. 

“Did you or did you not finish fucking your brains out for two straight days and then assume he secretly didn’t really like you?” Eddie asks, arms crossed. He’s got that serious pinch between his eyes. Mike sighs.

“I wouldn’t exactly-”

“Michael, answer the question,” Richie says. 

“Is this how this is going to be now? You two are teaming up on everything?” Mike asks, pointing between the two of them. Everyone’s heads swing in unison in their direction. Mike slaps a hand over his mouth. 

“What does that mean,” Stan says, and Eddie buries his head in his hands with a groan. Patty drops Mike’s hand onto her lap. 

“Yeah, what are you talk- Richard,” Patty turns to him when Eddie’s groaning gets louder. 

“We’re talking about Mike,” Richie squeaks at the same time Eddie blurts, “Richie and I are sleeping together.”

That gets them side-tracked for a while. 

Unfortunately, Bev remembers she and Mike’s bet from freshman year when Richie made a transparently desperate joke about taking Eddie to the homecoming dance and Eddie choked on his apple juice. Mike happily forks over the two dollars because if it means his friends are happy, he’ll be glad to lose any day. 

Eventually Stan orders Chinese food and they all drift in and out of conversation, calmed by time and the number four Family Platter at Mr. Wong’s. 

“I’ve never thought long-term like that before,” Mike’s saying into a carton of egg rolls. Ben tucks a foot under himself on the couch. “Plus who knows how serious Bill wants to be after his first marriage ended.” 

Ben grunts, gazing down at where Bev is trying to convince him into a Lady and the Tramp move with a noodle.

“I wouldn’t worry so much about that, man,” he says. Bev hits him on the leg and her noodle goes flying, but she looks fond while she cleans it up. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, lips pressed together. 

“Yeah?” Richie asks him. He’s staring at Eddie like he hung the moon. 

Eddie just pokes him in the shoulder with a chop-stick. 

Something like courage rises up in Mike’s throat. 

“Shit, I need to find Bill.” 

They all convince him to sleep on it, but he wakes up the next morning even more sure. He knows exactly what to do. 

He calls the publisher and takes the deal. They set up a meeting to go over the details next week. 

His next call is to buy plane tickets. 

Then, his dad. 

“I’m just proud of you, son,” he says first, after Mike tells him about the book. They’ve talked about it before, but Mike has gotten good at downplaying so many aspects of his own life, even to those who love him most. “Don’t worry about me, though. I know you like to look after me, but I promise there are plenty of hands to help out.” 

Mike smiles into the receiver. 

His fingers hang over the buttons before the final call, wondering if it’s too soon, but he dials up the Derry Embassy and hopes. 

“I’m sorry, sir, he’s on a do not disturb, but I can take a message for you.” 

Mike huffs. His mind spins. He can’t just show up at the hotel. No matter how romantic that looks in movies, Mike’s always found it a little creepy and heavy-handed. Even calling after Bill at the hotel without knowing he was there for sure is a bit much, but Mike is desperate. 

And he just wants to apologize. 

Then it pings something in his mind. 

“Can you, uh.” Oh _god_ , really, okay. He swallows down the embarrassment and goes for it. Now or never. “Can you tell him that his boyfriend called, wondering if he could join me in LA later this week?” 

It feels ridiculous to say out loud. He kind of likes it.

“Of course, sir.” 

“Okay,” he breathes, nerves thrumming through him. “Thank you.” 

Two days go by without a word. 

Mike watches over the bookshop with dead eyes. He rings up a few people and is glad to see the register comfortably stocked. Every time Stan passes him it’s with a sad, prodding grin, but Mike tries to ignore the pity looks. He’s fine. He just wanted to apologize. And he wouldn’t expect Bill to forgive him for turning so quickly after entrusting him with so much. 

He’s discussing hot-spots in Edinburgh with a customer when Bill walks through the door.

His description of the King Mary’s Close tour falls flat once his tongue numbs in his mouth, but the nice woman giggles nervously, accepts her receipt and moves away, just in time for Bill to approach the register with wide eyes. 

“Hi,” Mike says. 

“Hey, Mike.” Bill smiles. “I got your message.” 

“I leave on Thursday,” Mike blurts, then, because it’s all he’s wanted to say, “I’m so sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.” Bill’s body is sagging, his shoulders turned down. He looks tired. Mike feels the same way. 

“You didn’t, you. You weren’t.” 

They stare at each other for a beat, the air heavy between them. Mike has half a mind to leap across the desk and kiss him. But Bill bites his lip and huffs out a laugh.

“That message was-”

“Oh god,” Mike groans, shuffling hands over errant books piled up next to him, “I know, I’m sorry, that was so… it was too much.” 

Bill shrugs, flicking at a spot on his jeans. 

“I thought it was kinda cute.” 

_Oh god_ , Mike thinks. _I might be in love_. 

Bill’s eyes are arrestingly blue as he circles the desk, closer and closer, until he’s fisting a hand in the front of Mike’s shirt, just like the first time. But this time Mike knows what he feels like, how he sounds, what he really _wants._ At least he knows he might get some more time to figure it out. 

Their kiss feels like a promise and an apology all at once. 

“You’re really going to LA?” Bill asks when they pull back, hands greedy around each other.

Mike nods. His stomach floods with butterflies at the thought. He’s never even been on a _plane_. 

“Yeah, uh. Just for a meeting,” he answers, and Bill pulls down around his neck to bring their foreheads together. 

“That’s okay,” he says, and Mike nods, for no reason, but it is, it’s all _okay_ , and he focuses on the feel of Bill’s thumb rubbing a comforting line across his cheekbone. “We can take it slow.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, PLEASE leave a comment if you can manage! I love hearing from you and if people are interested I'd love to write more for Hanbrough :) 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at [tinyangryeddie](https://tinyangryeddie.tumblr.com/) or Twitter, now, apparently, where I'm [camerasparring](https://twitter.com/camerasparring)! Come teach me how the hell to use Twitter, I am old!


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